


Young Blood

by YoungJusticeAddict



Series: Just One Yesterday [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical Cursing, Carwash Siblings AU from my Tumblr, Crushes, Fluff, Gen, Most of these will be injured Wash, Multi, PFL Era, Project Freelancer, Reasons to run over Wash with cars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:51:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungJusticeAddict/pseuds/YoungJusticeAddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The (mis)adventures of rookie Freelancer Agent Washington</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initiation

**(Day 1)**

* * *

 

With the evaluation still a fresh slice into his mind, David walked the corridors carefully and quietly, fidgeting with his loose armour. Surely they didn’t have any that fit him better? David was swimming in yellow-striped steel.

No, not David. Washington- Agent Washington- that was his name now. The director and counsellor made that explicitly clear: code names only for the duration of his stay with Project Freelancer.

It was going to take some getting used to.

He wandered around, exploring every last nook and cranny he was allowed before his introduction to the team. This ship, the Mother of Invention, was really big, which meant a lot of exploring. Rounding the corner, he noticed that he had lost track of time. Reading the time on his HUD, he turned around and headed back towards the debriefing rooms he was told to meet up in.

He had some time to spare, but was hoping to make a good impression with his soon-to-be teammates and new bosses. His track record as of late made him out to be a psycho that randomly threw superiors into mirrors. He needed to make up for that here.

He hadn’t truly meant to injure his commanding officer. It just...happened.

* * *

 

Corporal David Bellingham had a man screaming in his face before he even stepped off the plane after returning from duty. He was demanding to know how could he disobey direct orders and put himself in danger. How his own soldier could be so damn stupid and naive.

The corporal understood he had been wrong in disobeying, but he saved an entire platoon of soldiers. With all odds against him, he brought over twenty soldiers home to their families who would have otherwise been left for dead. He was proud of himself, even if the army wasn’t. He did good, and all he had to show for it was marks on his record and marks on his body.

It continued for almost an hour. How a man as old as his CO could last that long talking without stopping for anything actually surprised him. David kept moving, he kept doing things even as his superior embarrassed him with shouts of his faults. The general even followed him into the locker room, making the insults worse with how badly they echoed off the tiled walls and repeated in his ears three or four times. The general, from what David could grasp, was completely embarrassed that his prized pupil disobeyed him. He wasn’t really all that mad about it, and would have left David alone if the general’s own superiors weren’t breathing down his neck to mark the kid for insubordination.

He fumbled through the stack of mail left in his locker, collecting most of it from the floor of his assigned box. It had been tossed in their haphazardly, with no care for organization. He sighed at the first letter, addressed to him from some military base far off in the next system. It was probably something announcing another promotion for his dad, or maybe one of his sisters.

He ripped it open anyway, desperate for something easy to distract him from the words being tossed around the room. Unfortunately, the first few words were not easy at all:

_Dear Corporal David Bellingham, we regret to inform you that your father, General Bellingham, has been killed in action-_

David let out a frustrated, broken sound. Why was everything coming down on him today, of all days? Sure the letter was from it actually happened, and his CO was hounding him about the actions of two weeks ago while he was away in combat, but did fate really hate him so much as to intertwine two pieces of bad news in the same afternoon?

He gripped the letter tightly in his gloved hands, wrinkling the pristine white paper and leaving it as unattractive as the words on it. Rage bubbled up in his chest and traveled down to the tips of his fingers. He threw it back into his locker, and everything was quiet. The general had stopped speaking, instead becoming annoyed that David was not paying him much attention at the moment.

“What are you looking at?” he asked. It would have seemed innocent enough, if he weren’t just talking his head off about how much shit he was in now.

David turned around and stared the man down. His voice came out crude and angry, the one word being all he needed to get his point across verbally, but unfortunately for the superior, not physically.

“You.” David was quick, cupping his hand behind the older man’s neck and swinging him around to the other side of the wall of lockers. He smashed his skull into the reflective pane of glass hanging off the metal and let go, allowing the man to collapse and quickly realize his mistake of berating the other officer.

The corporal was not afraid of the consequences, and gathered the rest of his things. He stuffed the letter, along with the rest of his mail and his dog tags, into a small duffle and walked straight out of the base alone.

* * *

 

He wasn’t David anymore, they made sure to strip him of that. They gave him another chance, as Agent Washington, and the least he could do was make a good first impression.

He was paying more attention to the map on his screen than where he was going. He didn’t want to be late, but these hallways weren’t easy to navigate. Where you thought a door should be, there was a wall. Half the hallways he went down were dead ends. There were way too many windows, and not nearly enough doors. He sighed to himself, glad he was closer to the meeting room than he was before. Maybe exploring his new home before such an important event was a bad idea.

He suddenly agreed with his last thought as a white-armoured hand reached out for his chest and pinned him against the wall with ease. The force of the limb lifted his feet off the ground and startled the air out of his lungs. He blinked and followed the arm with his eyes under his helmet, wrapping his hands around the attacker’s wrist when he came face to face with a white and gold visor.

Movement tore his gaze from the giant that pressed him to the wall. Standing behind him was another armoured soldier in shades of brown. She approached with her arms crossed tightly, ready to start a fight if necessary. “Who are you? How did you get past the alarms?”

Washington struggled a bit under this giant’s grip on his chest plate, “W-What? What alarms?”

The bigger one pressed his hand against Wash with a little more force, growling in an attempt to squeeze the information out of him. Washington squirmed under his grasp, “Wait! I’m one of you guys!”

She tilted her head, obviously amused by this poor rookie’s torture. “Oh yeah? We weren’t told about any new guys joining the pep squad. You’re gonna have to prove it.”

Washington struggled under the other man’s hold, desperately trying to grab for an escape plan. He stopped and stared at them, watching them watch him. Slowly, he reached up and removed his helmet, knowing it would hinder his next plan of action.

When the others saw his face, the pale skin and even paler blond hair, they softened for a quick second, distracted. That’s all he needed.

Pulling at the attachments at his sides, he separated his back plate from his chest plate, and slipped through the bottom of both. The behemoth overcompensated, squashing the plates together awkwardly trying to keep him there, and surely loud enough to draw attention.

Wash tumbled out of the way, kicking the back of his attacker’s knee, causing him to lose his balance and stumble forward into the brown soldier, the armour clattering to the floor. Washington pushed himself up and shoved the white one again, making the duo fall to the ground. Activating his gravboots, he quickly escaped up the wall and to the ceiling, running to the open area at the end of the hallway.

During his run, the freelancer in the brown armour growled in frustration and picked up the discarded chest plate. Winding up like a pitcher, she threw the grey and yellow metal straight at Wash with a godly amount of strength. Maybe he would develop that while he was here?

Washington turned his head just in time to duck out of the way and detach his gravboots. He flipped off the ceiling and aimed for the flying plate, landing on it and attaching his boots once again. He bent his knees and braced for the inevitable slam to the ground, smiling wide when it hit. Using the force from her throw, he sped across the open area like it was second nature, the grind of the armour against the metallic flooring of the ship bringing back memories of his old squad’s competitions. Leaning his weight to the side, he stuck out a hand for the sole support beam within reach. The new agent clung to the pole and spun around to head back to the others in the hallway.

They were helping each other up by the time Wash made it back. About five feet away, he kicked up his make-shift board and let it flip in the open air without the artificial attachment of his shoes. He followed it with a jump of his own, catching the metal on it’s third flip and slamming his feet on a flat side, shoving the opposite flat side straight onto the brown-armoured freelancer’s chest, effectively knocking her and the white mammoth behind her back onto their haunches.

Using that action as a springboard, Wash tumbled backwards through the air, landing rather awkwardly on his knees and skidding back into the center of the room on his kneepads. He grinned from ear-to-ear, panting softly. He hadn’t been on a board in _months_. He made a mental note to ask the freelancers in the doorway if any of them were up for a race later.

His grin fell and he blinked. When had they showed up? His gaze trailed from the grumbling brown and white pile of limbs and armour to the colorful display of disapproving agents staring at him.

Quickly, they all moved to the sides of the doorway, allowing a man of average height to pass through the crowd easily. David instantly recognized him and scrambled to his feet, standing straight as a board with his hands at his sides.

The director, Doctor Leonard Church, entered the room and glanced over at the two agents still on the floor. His eyes then landed on Washington, raising an eyebrow at the missing armour. When he spoke, it was with a distinct accent, something long forgotten in the vastness of space. “Agents Connecticut and Maine, please bring over Agent Washington’s misplaced armour.”

They did as requested, and Washington was quick to replace the pieces to his body. All of the agents lined up behind the Director and looked over the new recruit. The Director spoke again, though this was more monotone and without care, “Everyone, this is Agent Washington. He has arrived from duty as a Corporal in the UNSC. Previously, he has experience in weaponry and stealth from early-childhood training from a general of the UNSC.” The Director turned and faced his freelancers, “Even though he has training, he will need individual training times with each of you to be brought up to par with the entire project, just as each of you received upon joining. I expect full cooperation in this matter. The schedule of names, times, and subjects will be posted in the morning.” Looking back to Wash, then across all of the freelancers, he added, “You are dismissed.” He exited the room faster than he entered, and the team started in on Agent Washington.

A teal soldier spoke first, clearly asserting dominance in the exchange, “Welcome to Project Freelancer, Agent Washington.” She held out her hand, “Agent Carolina.”

Wash took her hand and shook it appropriately. Another person spoke before he had enough time to ask her a few questions. “Agent New York. That was pretty impressive, before. You good on a real board?”

Washington’s eyes lit up at that, and the others could see it how the question instantly brightened the young recruit, looking to each other. “Yeah. I was really good. Are you?”

“Nope. Fell flat on my ass as a kid and never touched another board since.” He laughed, and Wash returned it with a short chuckle of his own.

The rest of the agents introduced themselves accordingly, the last of which merely huffing out a low growl. Carolina’s smirk was audible beneath her helmet, “And you’ve already met Maine.”

Keeping things professional despite their earlier tousle, Washington approached Maine with a small smile, not that it was visible while wearing gear. Standing before the much larger man, Wash held out a hand to shake, “Nice to meet you, Agent Maine. I appreciate your strength and protectiveness of the MOI and your friends. I hope what happened earlier didn’t ruin any possibility for a partnership.” Washington looked to Connecticut, nodding her way, “The same to you, Connecticut. Witnessing everything first hand has already told me that this is a very good set of soldiers on board- _eep!_ ” He squeaked when Maine took his hand roughly, his dominant, passive-aggressive action nearly shattering the slim bones beneath the glove. Wash took his hand back when finished and wrung his wrist as the others laughed at his high-pitched exclamation.

* * *

 

**(Day 17)**

Fitting in seemed easier than Washington originally thought. Within the first two weeks, everyone was really rather welcoming, showing him around and swapping a few embarrassing stories along the way. The one he felt most comfortable with was Florida. His kindness, actions, and soft words reminded him of the things he left behind. Particularly when his face scrunched up the way his sister’s did when a tomato ended up on her plate, but for Florida, tomatoes were swapped with celery. Wash laughed at the way the older man pushed it away with his fork, mumbling something about the lack of nutritional value in that type of vegetable.

Wyoming rolled his eyes, taking the celery off his partner’s plate and tossing it onto his own. “Quit whining and just eat already, chap. You have the first mission with the rookie today. You’ll want to be perfectly ready for that, I hear he’s rather clutzy.”

Washington voiced a noise of protest and Florida piped up, “Play nice, Reggie. Kid’s gonna have your back one of these days. You might want to make friends now or he might just slip up.”

Wyoming grumbled something unintelligible, stabbing his chicken with a bit more force than necessary before bringing the utensil to his mouth, staring directly through the rookie.

Washington avoided it, bringing his attention back to his own meal. He ate slowly, listening intently to Florida’s tales of the Freelancers before his arrival, grinning when Florida’s words left Wyoming pink around the sideburns.

“Yes, we were all pretty much smashed after all of that. Barely remember a thing,” Florida winked across the table at Wyoming, who hid his reddening face. Turning to Washington, he added, “You should join us next time. It would be quite amusing to see how well you hold your liquor against our personal lush.”

“And who would that be?” Washington managed before the twins came barreling through the doors, huffing and gasping with grins plastered across their mugs. Wash and Reggie raised a brow each, while Florida simply smiled happily.

“Why, Agent South Dakota, of course.”

“I win!” North announced, bracing his hands on his knees to gather more air.

“No way. That was easily a tie, North,” South deadpanned despite her harsh breathing. Looking up to the viewers, she asked, “Guys c’mon. Who really won that race?”

Wyoming ignored them, finishing his plate and gathering up Florida’s, who quietly shook his head at the competition. Wash, on the other hand, jumped to North’s defense. “Yeah, I think North won.”

That was clearly the wrong answer, receiving a tight glare from the blonde soldier. He winced when she spoke, “Fuck you. Of course you’d pick him.” Before he had a chance to ask what she meant, she left for the display of fruits on the other side of the cafeteria. North glared daggers at the back of her head, while Wash was left confused.

It must have been clear on his face, because Florida came up behind him with his hands on the younger man’s shoulders, his lips way too close to his ear to be comfortable. “Don’t ask, kiddo. Our resident drama queen will say anything when she’s mad.”

“I heard that, Flowers!” South shouted, chucking a dual-toned apple at the other Freelancer’s head.

Florida spun and caught it effortlessly, turning it over in his hands before placing it in front of a very stunned agent Washington. “Ah yes, an apple a day.” Looking back at South, he shot back in the same sickly-sweet tone he always used, “Don’t try to play with the big kids, darling. You aren’t nearly old enough for these games.”

Wyoming came back into the fold with a hand on Florida’s lower back, directing him out of the mess hall with a smirk as South stewed in the corner. Washington was left to stare at the apple, the twist of their conversation leaving him in a mental whiplash.


	2. Flight

**(Day 17)**

* * *

 

After the briefing, the plane ride was uncharacteristically quiet. Glancing around, he wondered how the ones he’d been goofing around with just hours before could turn around and not let even a small smile grace their features. Wash questioned if it would always be this way, it wasn’t very fun.

The plane jerked, and his body followed the movement, only to be stopped by Carolina’s arm across his chest plate. It came out of nowhere, protecting him from hitting the safety bars like a power-armoured soccer mom. Glancing at her on his left, he nodded, “Thanks.”

She returned the nod, removing her hand once she was sure he was secure with the turbulence. “Can’t have you scuffing up that pretty armour before the action starts, Wash.”

Pouting, he sat back in his seat when the two to his right begin giggling, “Shut up.”

“You do look very pretty, Washy,” Florida announces from the opposite side of the aisle and Wash’s face feels warm under his helmet. To his right, North and York double over in laughter, and next to Florida is CT who just about falls out of her seat trying to reign it in. Florida is no fool, smiling at Washington from across the plane as the others break out in hysterics. “It’s true.”

Another noise is made, it’s distant and Wash can’t hear anything over York’s laughter in his ear. Carolina speaks up, “Enough,” and the Freelancers slow their roll into quieted fits of giggles. Once it’s at a decent volume, she continues, “What was that, Niner?”

From the cockpit, their pilot repeats herself, “Drop zone’s close for team B. Get ready, guys.”

“You heard her.”

There’s a scuffle of metal and rough fabric before all three members of team B are standing together at the exit doors. Washington, York, and North are lined up and Carolina surveys them carefully. “You know the objective. Just get the doors open and CT will jump in to grab the intel.” She turns to each member as she addresses them, “North, get somewhere high as soon as you drop and set up. We aren’t here to start a fight, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take out those who try. Wash, your job is to cover York while he gets past that security.”

They nod as Niner’s voice echoes over their comms, “Ten seconds, kiddos.”

* * *

 

North took off not three seconds after their feet hit the ground, searching for the parapet he’d spotted on the plane. It was the perfect place, hidden safely between some of the higher trees, like it was made for this sniper. Wash couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in the older man’s voice upon his departure.

While he was left alone with York, Wash began to feel slightly uncomfortable. The other man’s constant jabs to get a rise from him were about to be unpleasantly fulfilled. There was only so many times he could tell the other to shut up before the emotion took over his voice, and York instantly took notice.

“Oooh Washy’s getting angry. Gonna call up Florida and have him calm you down?” Yorks voice was teasing and patronizing as he picked the lock, grinning wildly beneath his helmet. “Or maybe have Carolina save you, huh?”

North jumped in on the chatter from his spot between the trees, causing them both to jolt in surprise, “York, leave him alone.”

“Oh, now you’re defending him?”

“Not entirely, I’m defending myself too, specifically my ears. You are really annoying today.” The purple-clad sniper adjusted his scope, monitoring some movement on a nearby building. “Heads up, got six hostiles on the roof left of you. If you hurry, you can avoid their line of sight.”

“I’m working as fast as I can here, North. Can either of you distract them? Toss a rock or something.” York looked up to see his partner had vanished. “Wash?” His tone had North concerned, looking away from the threats and down to where his teammates were. Or rather, teammate.

“I don’t see him. Wash, check in.” North commanded evenly.

When no reply was heard, York tucked a few tools back into his belt, “Shit. What do we do, North?”

“How far are you?”

“Nearly done. Maybe two minutes?”

North hummed over the comm in thought. “Then just wait. We can’t risk blowing this.”

“Do you think he left ‘cause of me?”

York’s sudden insecurity caught North by surprise, “No. He’s been in the field before. He knows how to follow orders and keep a level head when it comes to assholes.”

The locksmith agreed quietly before the entirety of the sentence hit him, and he squaked in disdain.

“You done yet, old man?” Wash’s voice came back online and made York jump.

“Shit! Will you guys stop scaring me today?” York looked over to see Wash inching closer to where he was before he left. “And fuck you, Tiny Tim, I’m not old. Where were you?”

“Causing a distraction, like you asked.”

“Why didn’t you answer us when we called for you?” North’s fatherly tone was seeping through and York snickered. “Shut up, York.”

“I was in a tight space. Couldn’t really talk,” Wash responded innocently. “Sorry.”

“You get in a lot of tight spaces, Washy?” York teased, knowing well that both the men on the other lines were blushing furiously. The man in question even sputtered in an attempt to defend himself, but York gave him no time. “Done here.”

“Good. I’ll call Connie down to get into the systems. They should be done with theirs over there.” North praised himself on how easily he hid the emotion in his voice after York’s comment, taking a moment to breathe away the creeping flush.

Connie’s voice came online with accompanying static, “H-Hey old man, you done over there? We’re headed your way.”

York protested, “We’re the same age, CT.”

Digitally broken snickers echoed through the link, “You’ve got two months on me, Y-York. Still old.” There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, “I think they’ve put up jammers in the area. It’s getting harder to keep the con-nec-nect-nection. Shit!”

The call cut off in a hail of bullets, the connection also severed finally by the long range jammers. North cursed and York chided him, “Gasp, North, _language_. There is a very impressionable child present.”

“Fuck you too, York,” Washington rebuttled. “Should we go over there, North?”

Watching team A through his scope, he responded sternly, “No. They are doing fine, just a few insurrectionists got the jump on them. Maine looks like he’s having fun, though.”

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

“What, the grenades or the gunfire?”

“Shut up, York. I meant the other sound. Sounds like a-”

A chill ran down North’s spine as he watched the scene unfold through his viewfinder. The youngest of their team jumped into the action first, knocking their third teammate out of the way of the incoming vehicle.

Two insurgents procured a car and aimed it straight for the Freelancers accessing the now unlocked doors. Wash managed to get York out of the way before the bumper of the car nearly broke their youngest in half, hitting him square in the torso where only part of his body was protected by armour. The force pushed him through the double doors and sent him flying backwards into the building.

The vehicle’s driver wasn’t very smart, allowing the car to come in at an angle and get stuck in the doorframe. While they fought over how to get it out, North fired two shots from his position, taking both targets out before they remembered York was dazed off to their right. Collecting his things, North hissed into the mic while watching something blink red in the corner of his HUD, “York, move.”

“Usually you’d have to put me in a bed before getting that demanding,” York groaned, “Damn, the rookie is fast.”

“Yeah. Wash, what’s your status?” Completely ignoring York’s nonchalant flirting, he kept focused on the alert on his screen, checking over his partner’s injuries. “Agent Washington, do you copy? What is your status? Are you injured?”

North was ready to ask once more in the time it took for their missing agent to reply, “Y-Yeah, I copy.” His reply was airy, the other two easily listening in on the next few breaths he took, “Knocked the wind out of me. Give me a second.”

North stood, carefully stepping down from his vantage point, “York, give the kid a hand. My HUD’s a freakin’ Christmas tree over here, so something’s wrong.” Jumping down to street level, he grunted, “I’ll be there in a second. Keep an eye out.”

“Already on it, _mom_ ,” York jumped over the car and the two dead bodies in the cockpit, crunching glass and debris as he searched for the youngest member. “Where the fuck are you, Wash?”

Creeping past a collection of pillars, York was met with an onslaught of bullets from previously hidden assailants. He ducked for cover behind one of the structures he just passed and cursed, calling out, “Rookie, answer me!”

“Busy! Call back later!” Washington offered, taking out a gunman with a dagger to the back of his throat, not even flinching when blood sprayed across his helmet. He worked fast despite his earlier impairment, tossing perfectly aimed knives at the hearts of seven other assailants trying to kill York. Wash took a little too much pleasure hearing the even thumps of flesh and metal hitting the floor, giving the morbidity a small smirk.

When the gunfire died down due to Washington’s actions, York peeked carefully around the corner, keeping his gun raised with a finger on the trigger. He scanned the room, checking for other hostiles before landing his sights on Wash, “Damn, kid. Where’d you learn that?”

The agent stepped up on an angled piece of the broken door the car snapped off, walking up it until he was a foot taller than the other man. Smiling at the advantage he had, he tilted his head down to answer the other freelancer, “Pssh, not in basic, that’s for sure.”

York rolled his eyes at the youngest’s childish attempt, opening his mouth to speak, but someone behind him beat him to it.

“Fuck...off….” an injured insurrectionist choked out and raised his rifle, the knife in his chest jostling with the movement. Wash reached for the pistol at his hip, cursing himself for missing a target. Before he could pull the weapon free of its attachment, two shots rang through the air.

The first was from the enemy, managing to actually hit York in the shoulder despite his obvious blood loss. York’s cry wasn’t alone, as Wash released one of his own when the bullet passed through York’s shoulder cleanly and into the rookie’s chest plate, the force knocking him off the door and onto his back on the ground. York took a knee, one hand already on his shoulder to stop the bleeding.

The second shot came at almost the same time as the first, this time coming from a friendly. North stood on the other side of the crashed car in the doorway, his sniper balanced on the crushed dashboard of the vehicle and aimed for the attacker’s helmet. The single bullet tore through the shooter’s temple, embedding in the wall behind him with a spray of red as another body crumpled to the earth.

The eldest was quick to hop over the obstructing machinery, rushing to put even more pressure on the middle’s wound. He glanced over at the grey soldier worriedly, “Wash?”

“I’m good,” the agent groaned in reply, “Armour got it.” Rolling over stiffly, he pushed himself to his feet, “How’s the shoulder?”

North pulled a hand away to check it out, replacing his hand a moment after, “Clean shot. Should be fine once we get back to the pelican and grab the emergency aid.”

“Heh, no need,” York muttered, “Got something new from the Director this morning. We’ll see if it works.” Raising a hand to his HUD, he shared his screen with the other two, “Healing unit. Only one so far. If this works, maybe you guys will get one too.”

The trio watched in amazement as the new tech began to heal his shoulder at an increased pace, the blood clotting immediately so North could remove his hands. “That’s handy.”

“You have the the whole world of arm-related humor before you, and you go for handy?” York snorts. “Read a taffy wrapper and get some new material, North.”

* * *

 

Arriving safely back on the MOI, York and Wash are both carted off to medical for at least an hour, leaving North to skim the web on his datapad for better jokes to compete against the recently holey locksmith.


	3. Admiration

**(Day 18)**

* * *

 

York rolled over on his cot, shoving the pillow around his head to cover his ears. Wash had been up most of the night scribbling nonsense into a journal, and was still doing it well into the early morning hours. Dumb kid had trouble sleeping like a normal person, and didn’t seem to give a fuck about anyone else getting sleep.

Luckily, they were only trapped in the medbay for one night, so when the nurses came to dismiss them in a few hours, York would be able to go back to his quarters for a proper sleep.

Groaning, he threw the pillow at the youngest recruit. “Washington, I swear to god.”

Wash took the pillow to the face, screwing up whatever he was doing in that little book. _Heh, good._ “What the fuck, York?”

Wash was quick to erase the accidental marks and York rolled his eyes, “You’ve been scratching shit in that diary for hours, it’s really fucking annoying. Just go the fuck to sleep, Wash.”

Frowning down at the pages in his lap, he closed the journal, “It’s not a diary. I’m not stupid enough to keep one of those around with you idiots here.”

“Oh, so you do have one?”

“Shut up, York.”

“What do you write in it?” York teased, sitting up in his bed and leaning over the edge to taunt the other man, “Do you write about your feelings, Washy? Do you write about how cute Florida is-no wait,” he grinned at the rookie, waggling his eyebrows seductively, “Do you write about how cute I am?”

Wash looked up from his lap with wide eyes, a blush filtering through the maze of freckles on his pale cheeks, “Shut up, York. I don’t have a diary, and I don’t write about _those_ things.”

“So what _do_ you write about in that book, Washington?” York chucked darkly, “Naughty things?”

The blond sputtered, letting his annoyance loose for a moment and hurling the nearest object at York, which turned out to be a box of medical tools on the side table. They fell out as the box flew through the air, clattering across the floor between the cots, several landing on the mattress as the box hit it’s target in the gut. “Of course not, you fucking pervert!”

Curling inward, the brunette caught the unsafe collection of tools like a sports ball to avoid injury. When he looked up, he screeched at the now standing freelancer, “Damn, Wash!”

“Fuck this,” reaching for his IV, he ripped it from the crook of his arm rather harshly, not even bothering to wipe the small quantity of blood that oozed out. He let it dribble down the upper half of his forearm as he gathered his pencils and journal. Avoiding York’s gaze, he rushed out of the room and into the lobby of the medical wing, calling to the nurse as he left, “AMA, ma’am.”

When he made it out, he ran. He ran so fast through the halls he didn’t even notice the people he’d passed. He heard North call for him, but there was no turning back now. He had to get out before he did something worse. He’d just fucked it up with York. He could have hurt him. He needed to get away, so he did.

He tucked himself up high, out of the immediate view of the passerbys below. He curled up in the sill of the highest window in that hallway, at least fifteen feet in the air, and far from the medical wing. He watched the stars glitter just beyond the glass, fingering the old pages of the book in his lap.

North found him there a while later. A half hour? A whole? He couldn’t remember how long he’d been up here, off in his own mind, trying to fix the situation alone. He’d started scribbling again when he heard the sniper’s soft, friendly voice.

“Wash, how did you get all the way up there?”

The agent in question looked down, frowning at the other blond. “I jumped,” he pointed to the bars on the opposite wall, a maintenance workspace to reach the air ducts, and watched North change his gaze.

“That’s still nearly eight feet away. Are you like a cat or something?”

Washington laughed, a melodic, catchy sound, making North laugh as well. “I don’t think so.” His face fell slightly, returning his gaze to his journal, “What do you want, North?”

“Can you come down here, please?”

“Why?"

“So we can talk without giving me a neck cramp.”

The younger blond snorted and closed his book. Taking it into his mouth, he held it by the binding with his teeth and launched himself across the space, grabbing the bars easily despite North’s shocked gasp.

Once his feet were perfectly on the floor, he held the book tentatively behind his back with both hands, not meeting the older man’s gaze. “What do you want to talk about?”

North put a gentle hand on his shoulder, earning his attention, “I just saw York. He said you guys had an argument, and you left.”

Wash tensed beneath his fingers, but North quickly added, “I’m not here to judge you, Wash. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Did I hurt York?”

North looked surprised, “What? No. Why do you think you hurt him?”

“I _might_ have thrown sharp doctor-y instruments at him when he insinuated that I write inappropriate things in my personal time.” Wash looked to his shoes, busying himself with mentally recording the details of the fabric.

North smiled, “He didn’t even mention it.” Taking Wash’s chin in his fingers, he tilted the younger’s face upward, “And if he said that, then he deserved it.”

Wash felt the flush creep across his face once again, and cursed himself for the involuntary response. If North noticed, he didn’t let on. Washington backed out of the embrace, fumbling for an excuse. “Thanks for checking on me. I should go...go talk to Connie. She wanted me to see her when I got out. Bye North.” His words were fast and jumbled, but the other man got the jist before the youngest swiftly made his exit.

North stood alone in the hallway and sighed, raising a hand to his own warmth at the back of his neck.

* * *

 

The next time North found Wash, he wasn’t alone. North and York were actually scouring the entire ship for their youngest teammate, the latter determined to see what their recruit was hiding.

Somehow South had gotten involved, probably thanks to York never shutting up and letting it slip that Wash had something interesting. It wasn’t hard to bait his twin into mischievous acts, like trying to pry the journal out of the rookie’s sleeping grip.

North stood behind the couch, watching the scene unfold with a mix of amusement and worry. Surely if the Freelancer woke, he would be upset with the lot of them, but it would be nice to know what was in that journal that caused so much activity earlier in the day.

Catching the blond asleep was a rarity. For some unknown reason, the kid had way too much trouble sleeping. North wondered if this line of work was too much for his young mind as he watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Their youngest teammate was curled around the book protectively on the rec room loveseat, face buried in the armrest. It was cliche, but the kid actually looked peaceful compared to earlier.

“He’s gonna have a kink in his neck when he wakes,” South murmured.

“Pretty sure he’s got a lot more than that,” York announced a tad too loud.

North hushed them both, lightly brushing the short hairs from the sleeping blond’s forehead attentively when he saw his eyes move quickly beneath their lids. “You’re too loud. Quit talking.”

“You’re too cute, North,” South whispered with a smirk, earning a glare from her brother. “What? Your crush on the kid is way too sweet.”

“I don’t crush, South. Now be quiet or we won’t see what’s in the book.”

“If it wasn’t for wanting to know what’s in this stupid thing, I would be totally against letting this brat sleep. He kept me up all night,” York grumbled.

“Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“Seriously guys, be quiet.”

York rolled the rookie over slightly while South reached in and slowly pulled off each of Wash’s fingers from the spine of the book. When she reached the last digit, their victim moved. He rolled over onto his back, one hand reaching far above his head and hanging off the edge of the couch as the other remained flat over his chest. His clothing shifted with the movement, pulling his shirt up and exposing his stomach and torso, earning a shiver in response to the lack of coverage. Despite his movement, he did not wake, and the trio breathed a sigh of relief.

South snatched the book now that it was unprotected, and York grabbed one of the many markers the poor sap left on the floor. Uncapping it, he looked over the sleeping Freelancer and debated what to draw.

South cracked open the book and gasped. York leaned over the kid and began connecting the dots in a phallic way on his temple. “What’s it say, Madison?”

“It doesn’t _say_ anything,” flipping a few pages, she held it out to the boys, “They’re _drawings_ . Of _us_.”

The sniper and locksmith both took their eyes off their prey and focused on the precise sketches presented. North gave a small smile, “Those are really detailed.”

“Yeah, look at this one,” Madison turned the book back to herself and flipped back a page before showing it again, “This one’s got your scar, York. From when Wyoming hit you with the shock batons for kissing Florida.”

Reaching to the cylindrical reminder on his neck, he nodded, “Yeah, it does.”

She took the book back and flipped through the rest of the pages, stopping at the last one, a half-drawn picture of Maine smiling. Smirking, she leaned back against the wall, “There’s a lot of you in here, York. I’d say the rookie has a crush.” Looking to her brother, she rhymed the statement with a grin, “ _Sorry Artie_.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “I don’t have a crush, _Maddie,_ so nothing to be sorry about.” He used the loathed nickname in a taunt, small slips of anger in his voice, “Quit talking about it.”

York choked, dropping the marker, “A crush? On me?”

“Yeah, see for yourself.”

He stood and took the sketchbook from the other Freelancer, studying the contents. “Shit,” he muttered, following the lines with his eyes. On this page, there was a more placid depiction of the brunette. York thumbed over the eraser marks around the chin, no doubt from their earlier infraction with the pillow tossing. “He did this while I was sleeping? Fucking creepy…..but also flattering. I look good.”

“You always look good, York. What difference does graphite make?” North whispered, returning his gaze to the soldier that currently possessed all of their fascination. His eyes dragged from the hazing on the man’s forehead to the soft, parted lips taking in air evenly. Nope, not a crush. His sights traveled lower, to the askew, pale yellow t-shirt and faded cat on the breast as York and South conversed over the open journal. So the kid had a thing for cats. Noted.

What trailed under the cat had him concerned. Passing the boundary of friendly personal space, North reached for the hem of his partner’s shirt, lifting it slightly to reveal unsettlingly tinted skin. “York, you said he left the bay against medical advice?”

With his gaze still transfixed by Wash’s talents, he replied lazily, “Yeah. Brat left it a fucking mess, too. Why?” York chanced a look up from the book to see whatever had North concerned, and was met with the kid’s bruised torso, “Oh….”

“Is that from the car you reported?” South inquired, pushing off the wall to get a closer look.

“I guess.” North sighed, fixing the poor kid’s shirt back into place. “That must be why my HUD was lit up. Those soldiers really did a number on him.”

The twins watched over the sleeping weapon’s expert while York kept himself concerned with the sketches. Did the rookie have a crush on him? Is that why he pushed him out of the way of the car? Is that why there were a dozen portraits of him on the pages of this old journal?

Wash chose that moment to wake from his sleep and York’s face lit up pink, raising his gaze to meet his panicked eyes. His first words were tired and scared, “Is that my journal?”

“Uh, yeah.” York was slow to respond, but collected himself enough to tease. “There’s a lot of me in here. Something you want to tell me, Washy?”

The rookie stood quickly, dodging South’s warning grab and snatching the book from York’s hands, crumpling the papers. “Yeah, stay out of my stuff.” He turned to the twins, fuming, “Him I expected this from. But you two? I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” North tried.

“Then why did you lift my sketchbook? Why didn’t you stop York from betraying my trust and invading my personal space? Why did _you_ invade my personal space?”

“Wash, chill,” York offered, placing a hand on his shoulder to turn him back around. “Isn’t it a good thing that we looked? Now I know about your crush,” when Wash blushed he knew he had him, “and I can do something about it.”

The locksmith leaned in, placing a gentle hand on the blond’s jaw to keep him there as their lips brushed. He heard the soft intake of air and the shifting just past the rookie where the twins stood. Grinning, he captured Washington’s lips in his own for a quick, chaste taste. When he pulled back, he bathed in the glossy look in his eyes and the bright red blush caressing the freckles on his face. “Now _that’s_ something to sketch.”

The words pulled Wash from his trance and his face twisted into a glare, “Fuck you, York.” Pulling the brunette’s hand away, he held his book close and pushed past the twins and escaped into the hallway.

“When, where, and how hard, Washy?” York smirked, proud at how flustered he made the rookie. Eyeing North’s bitter expression, he tagged on, “I charge for groups!”

* * *

 

He didn’t run this time. There was so much to escape that it fogged his brain. York just kissed him. York, North and South all saw his sketches. Sure, they weren’t anything incriminating aside from the excess amount of York, but they were still _private_.

And York _kissing him_? What the fuck was that? He didn’t have a crush on York. There was no way he could fall for that asshole.

He kept walking down to the lower levels, ignoring everyone else around him. He kicked open a nearby door and slammed it shut behind him, leaning against it. Looking up, his eyes met the waste incinerator in the back of the room. He took a breath to clear his mind. Maybe if he destroyed the evidence, they would leave him alone? Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

Wash opened the tiny door to the flames, enjoying the warmth on his skin. He took a moment to absorb the feeling before opening up his sketchbook and tearing out one page at a time.

* * *

 

Maine watched from the doorway quietly, not sure how to approach their newest recruit about hiding things from his team. He scanned every last page he could see before they were burned, frowning at the destruction of such talent. At the last page, he saw familiarity and spoke up. “Don’t.”

Washington spun on his heel, backing up until his backside hit the cool outside of the incinerator. “Shit. Maine?”

He took the moment of dishevelment to strut forward and take the book from the young Freelancer’s hands quickly. Examining the image, he carefully pulled it from the binding. “It is nice.”

Wash let him take the journal, knowing it would be a waste of energy to try and fight him. “What?”

“I’m smiling.” Maine held the last page for Wash to see, but out of his grasp to prevent it from joining the others in the furnace. “Nice.”

“Oh....”

“Keep?”

“Sure.”

“Should draw more.” Maine muttered, folding the piece softly and tucking it in his back pocket, “Very flattering.”

“But York-”

“Flattering.” He stated it so simply, like it was an easy fact to accept. Handing back the empty book, he made his way out. Stopping in the doorway, he added, “They drew on your forehead.”

_ “What?!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the sweet Wash-needs-a-nap on Tumblr  
> Check out my RvB Freelancer Headcanons for info on what to expect later on in this fic!  
> EDIT: We've got some amazing art!!!   
> http://wash-needs-a-nap.tumblr.com/post/149923162324/he-tucked-himself-up-high-out-of-the-immediate


	4. Confrontation

He didn’t purposefully avoid his teammates in the days following the breach of trust, he was just busy. Yeah, busy.

He’d had training with CT and Wyoming the past three mornings and just happened to ignore the others to get to his scheduled times. Today, though, he had hand-to-hand sweatpants sparring with Carolina, and knew there was no dodging the blows or the questions.

She threw a rather weak kick and he used his forearms to protect his ribs. She was going easy, probably testing him out, and he sighed in frustration. “Carolina. Why are you pulling your hits?”

“You’re still recovering. You need to train, but you also need to heal.” Throwing a jab, he blocked it easily, “Just make it look good on the cameras and run the clock to keep the Director happy.”

“But then he’s gonna get mad at you for holding back,” Wash retorted, letting his hands fall to his sides to pause the spar, annoyance clear in his tone, “I’m fine, Carolina. Don’t bite the bullet just because I was stupid enough to take on a fifty mile an hour jeep.”

Carolina straightened, crossing her arms, “Fine. If you’re good, then grab the shock batons. FILSS, set the power levels to 5% and add 12% after each round until the Rookie cries uncle.”

“Start it at 10, FILSS.” Agent Washington turned to the moving floor panels, waiting for the tray to raise so he could gather his equipment.

_ “Levels raised. Good luck, Agents.” _

The following battles went pretty good, with Washington holding about as well as a rookie could against the team’s best fighter. He managed to land a few hits and win a round, though he was sure she was still holding back. The viewing deck also gained a few viewers, and Wash tried not to notice the blond and brunette up against the glass.

Unfortunately, his eyes betrayed him and he gave a quick glance to the box and connected with North’s concerned gaze. The intensity of his icy blues distracted him long enough for Carolina to smack him in the face with the butt of the baton, knocking him back a few steps and leaving his upper body open for the finishing move.

She delivered it swiftly, letting the ‘I told you so’ be delivered via electroshocks and brute force to the weakest point on his body. She sent him to the floor, the air rushing from his lungs as his ribs screamed against the action. Stars danced in his vision and the robotic voice echoed around him.

_ “Round five to Agent Carolina. Current standing is 4:1 advantage Carolina. Reset?” _

Resting there for a moment, he focused on the agony the assault to his injury produced. He worked his mind around it, fighting the response so he could get back up and continue. His breath was shaky, eyes wandering the planes of the ceiling before a warm hand pulled him back together.

It was soft on his face, pleasantly brushing a thumb over the peak of his cheekbone to ground him in consciousness. He blinked, focusing on the shapes above him. North’s panicked expression came into view, while York’s annoyed calls were the first to reach his ears.

“The fuck, Lina? I warned you about his bruises!”

“Hot shot decided he could handle it.”

“That doesn’t mean you target the injuries!”

“It’s kinda hard not to when they cover most of his torso.”

Wash swatted North’s hand away when he gathered enough strength. “Leave her alone, York. Mind your own fucking buisness and get off the floor.” Using the baton as a crutch, he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring North’s cautionary hands hovering around him in case he fell. 

“It  _ is  _ my business, Wash.  _ I’m  _ the reason you’ve got those-”

“But it’s  _ not  _ your business. My body, my decisions. I chose to get in front of that car, and now I’m choosing to train with Carolina. So get off the fucking floor or join the fight.” He twirled the baton in his left hand and the other’s side-stepped for their safety, effectively giving Wash some much-needed space.

York stared, mouth open in mid sentence. He snapped it shut and walked forward, standing toe-to-toe with the younger blond, “Hell yeah. Takin’ your ass down, Rookie.”

“Guys, c’mon…”

“Shut up, North,” York and Wash spoke in unison, but York’s was more angry and Wash’s more annoyed than anything.

“Stop.”

A new voice had all four heads turning in surprise. Florida stood stiffly in the doorway, a towel and mug in hand. His lips were set in a line, obviously unhappy at the turn of events. Wyoming peeked out behind him, eyebrows raised at the scene. 

“That is not how this situation will be handled.”

“Look, Florida, this is a personal matter-”

“Nothing is personal here, Agent Washington.” He took a sip from his cup and entered the room, Reginald following his movements diligently. “We are all trapped here on this ship, and we need to all get along for the sake of our lives and the lives of those we protect. Please try to not disrupt that again.”

Washington sputtered, his grip on the baton loosening, “ _ Excuse me? _ ”

“I am quite certain you heard me clearly. Your records indicate no hearing loss, so please try to pay attention.” 

Taking another drink, he looked to York, “And you, Agent New York, should not provoke others, especially teammates, while they are holding dangerous weapons. Surely you knew better, and this is just a minor slip-up thanks to distress over Agent Washington’s injuries.

“Whatever occurred to cause such a saddening quarrel needs to be talked about in a safe environment and dealt with properly. So sit your hiney’s down for a spell and lets get talking.”

Behind them, FILSS swapped the training floor with a collection of foam mats of varying colors. North watched the exchange take place, remaining quiet. When the other’s realized the change, all but Carolina sat down as instructed.

Waving a hand and turning for the door, she announced, “Have fun with your therapy session, Butch. I’ve got things to do.”

“I’ll be sure to find you later, then, darling.” Carolina could hear the flirt in Florida’s tone, and turned to see the expected wink sent her way. She returned it before leaving. Carolina didn’t feel anything of the sort towards Flowers, but it was fun to play along once in awhile, especially when it bothered Wyoming and York.

York leaned back on his hands as he sat on a bright green mat, aiming an unseen glare at the back of Carolina’s head, only to be cut off by the doors closing behind her. He returned his sights to Florida, “If she gets to leave, then why don’t I?”

Handing his cup to Reggie, Butch sat on a dark blue mat, tucking his feet under him tightly and reaching up to undo his bun. They weren’t doing yoga anytime soon, so he let it fall free behind him. Dark waves cascaded across his shoulders and layered on the floor behind his hips. Turning back to York, the barely-there indigo highlights shimmered in the flourescent lighting. “You all are free to leave. You are adults, after all. Even if you behave like children.” Wyoming slowly settled in at Florida’s five, fingers possessively brushing through the small piles of locks that curled over themselves on the floor. “But, if you wish for things to return to normal, I suggest sticking around.”

North seated himself next to York, with Washington on his other side on a grey mat. He sat with his back straight, tense with the thought of the looming discussion. “I thought Price was our therapist? I don’t think he’ll be too happy about you taking his job.”

“Aiden Price has many duties, Agent North Dakota. I do not believe he would mind me taking over such a poor squabble. Now,” he lightly slapped his thighs for emphasis, looking between all three soldiers before him, “where do we start?”

“Wash kept a sketchbook full of drawings of me.”

“Shut up, York! They weren’t all of you, you narcissistic prick!”

“Yeah? The only other people I saw in there were half a Maine and two bad North’s. You focused on mine.”

“There were others too! Of course you would only pay attention to your own!”

North closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, wondering to himself if it would matter if he left or not.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it.” Florida spoke out above the noise, and the others silenced. “Washington, you keep a sketchbook? May I see it, please?”

Wash shifted, wishing he wore his helmet like the other two to hide his own face. His eyes widened slightly, and Florida took note of it, tilting his head quizzically. “Uh….no.”

“Why not? Are there things in it you are afraid to share? I will not judge.”

His eyebrows shot up, hands gesturing excessively as his voice raised an octave, “No! I-uh-no. I don’t have it anymore.”

“What?” York and North spat in unison, heads snapping to stare incredulously at their youngest teammate.

Wash sat back, surprised at their surprise. Florida stole a glance at Wyoming before asking, “Where is it, Washington?”

“I kind of….uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, cursing himself for the embarrassed reddening of his cheeks, “it kinda had a date with the incinerator the other night.”

Three faces fell at the revelation, leaving Wyoming with a distracted, neutral expression as he made small collections of braids in Florida’s mane.

North was the first to speak, his voice a soft cut through the air, “Wash…”

“No, no, it’s cool. Now there’s no problem.” He shrugged it off, only partially convincing himself he was fine with his actions. “Maine and I took care of it.” Looking back to Florida, Wash added, “No more issue. Sorry to have caused so much drama. Can I leave now?”

Without waiting for a response, Washington stood, baton still in hand. He walked by North and York to pick up Carolina’s discarded weapon and felt a tug at the end of his own. He followed the staff with his eyes, trailing from his own grip to the armoured one at the end, and then to the gold visor of it’s owner. York stared him down, the younger unable to see the intensity from behind the helmet. “Wash, you didn’t need to-”

**_“YORK.”_ **

The brunette winced, turning to face the orchid-coloured soldier stampeding through the room. “IIIII’m in trouble.”

“You’re gonna die, York. North, say goodbye to your boyfriend. He’ll be gone by morning.” South spat through clenched teeth, venom spilling from her helmet.

“He’s not my boyfriend. What did you do this time, York?” North thumbed the seal on his helmet and removed it, letting the room see his eyes roll.

“You wound me, North,” York let go of the pugil stick and raised his hands in surrender, “What makes you think her being pissed is my fault?”

“When is it not your fault?” Wash jabbed with a smirk, earning York’s glare. “Too soon?”

“Yes but fair point.”

“Noted.”

“South,” North stood, taking a step towards his twin, “What happened?”

The younger Dakota moved, standing in front of her future victim, anger sparking brighter than the shock batons, “Ask this joker.”

York shrugged, earning everyone’s attention. “I…..might have….gotten bored when you were avoiding us, Wash.”

“Wait now this is  _ my  _ fault?”

Considering it for a moment, York replied hastily, “Yes totally. South go after  _ him  _ not me.”

South growled low in frustration, grabbing York by his chest piece and lifting him into a standing position.

“Okay! Okay! I filled her shampoo with hair dye!”

North sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Alright, sis. Let’s see the damage.”

Using her grip on him, South shoved York backwards before reaching for her helmet. “If any of you laugh, you are dead.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“That’s it. You’re next, Washington.” South snarled, removing her head gear and tucking it under her arm. As of this moment, the dye hadn’t completely absorbed into her hair. The blonde roots were still quite visibly there, but the ends of her cropped hair were bleeding through an uneven layer of hot pink, giving her a very 20th century punk look.

Wash smiled, trying his best to not taunt the pranked blonde. “I like it.”

North nodded, looking to his sister in earnest, “So do I. It’s not a bad look, Mads.”

Raising a hand tentatively to her ruined locks, South allowed herself to get lost in the compliments. She’d worked herself up over the prank, and was ready to give the man hell for it, but if it was actually a good thing? Maybe she could let this one slide. She contemplated that thought for only a moment before her attacker opened his big stupid mouth again.

“So….Does that mean I’m off the hook?”

South’s hand ripped away from her head with a jerk, returning it to her side. “Hell no. If anything, you need to be taught in the art of pranking, York.”

North’s eyes widened, “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Wash and Florida both asked, and everyone turned to the blue Freelancer still on the floor, momentarily forgetting he was still in the room. Wyoming, however, was nowhere to be seen.

South smirked, angling her head towards her brother but never breaking eye contact with York, “I call for a prank war. No backing out. That goes double for you, Rookie.”

Washington blinked in surprise, “Why?”

“Because you’ll chicken out, Washy.” York grinned, stepping forward to toss an arm across his shoulder.

Wash ducked and scrambled to stand next to North instead. “No way. Out of all my sisters, I was the best at pranks. It’ll be way too interesting with you guys to wuss out.”

South’s gaze moved to Wash, opening her mouth to add on when Florida spoke up, “That would be very interesting indeed. There are a few I have yet to demonstrate-”

“Hell no, Daisies, you are not participating.” South turned to face Flowers, “You nearly got us all fired last time.”

Wash bit his lip to hold back a laugh, watching Florida and South’s faces twist in memory. York verbally agreed with South, and North offered an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. Amusement trickled through Wash’s voice and earned him a glare from the younger twin, “What happened?”

“Florida here set fire to the Counsellor.” York gestured to the the still seated soldier, “Ever wonder why his hair’s so short?”

Wash looked between everyone, wondering if York was being truthful. When no one objected, his face split into a wide grin, “Seriously?”

Florida rolled his eyes, “I did not do it on purpose, York. And if I want to participate, I will. It’s not as if any of you could stop little ol’ me.”

South’s eyebrows shot up, “Is that a challenge, Daisies?”

Florida simply smiled and pushed himself to his feet, “Everything is a challenge with you, my dear South.” He collected his towel and mug before exiting while the insulted Freelancer grasped at straws for a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweatpants Sparring: sparring practice with weapons or without while not wearing any type of protective gear. In this case, sweatpants and t-shirts.


End file.
